


You're Alive

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:36:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4861535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick knew, deep down. And Damian’s had enough dreams to know that this isn’t one.</p><p>(an inner monologue for the reunion in Grayson 12, between the old Batman and his bird.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dick

**Author's Note:**

> TODAY’S GRAYSON 12. It destroyed my soul and I couldn’t be happier. Here’s my take on what Dick’s inner monologue could have been. Still debating if I’ll make one for Damian, so. If you want it. You gotta let me know, mkay. All dialogue is from Grayson 12.

He knew, deep down. Or, _thought_ he did.

Bruce never said what happened on Apokolips, never said whether he’d been successful or not, but. Dick thought he knew.

Because the papers were mentioning Robin again. No pictures, just bylines. A few words, maybe a sentence here and there. Nothing official, nothing confirming. Rumours, for the most part.

Because Tim and Jason were in Gotham. A _lot_. _Together_. And Dick couldn’t think up much as to why they would be. They were on better terms, nowadays, but still. They needed a reason to hang out as much as they were, and, beyond the masks, there were few things they had in common.

Because suddenly Bruce was…happy. He’d hit a rough patch after Damian’s death, they all had. The joke was always that Dick himself was the glue that held that family together, but after the loss of their youngest, they all realized it wasn’t true. It had been _Damian_ , the one they all behaved for, strived to be a good example for, tried to be _better_ for.

But suddenly…Bruce was okay. Back to normal. And Dick never even _pretended_ to think that Bruce had magically learned to properly deal with his grief. There had to be a reason. And there was only _one_ reason that Bruce could turn it around so fast.

So, yeah. He knew. He thought he did.

But he still didn’t believe it. Still didn’t let himself have that hope, just in case he was wrong.

Because he’d been wrong before.

Because he couldn’t handle losing Damian again.

So when he returned from meeting with Barbara, when he found Alfred waiting for him in the hallway, a large, fond smile adorning his face, when Alfred handed him the hilt and whispered, “I think there’s one more person you need to see.”

…Dick still didn’t want to believe it.

Because, it was rare. But Alfred had been wrong before, too.

But still. Dick’s hope won out. Dick let his heart climb to that level, fully aware of how far it would fall, how hard it would shatter, if this was all another sham. If Dick’s greatest wish wasn’t waiting for him at the end of this journey.

He followed Alfred’s coordinates anyway.

It was a small mountain town, more or less empty. Dick couldn’t tell if that was because it was abandoned, or because it was only daybreak, and too early for any local citizens.

He didn’t have much time to think about it, though. As he walked down the central street, he heard a commotion from one of the houses. A girl’s voice, followed by the grumpy growl of some animal, and then finally, a boy.

A very haughty, royal-sounding boy.

Dick froze, listening, trying to make out the words, decipher the tones, catch any familiarities. He didn’t get much of a chance, however, as the door on the house at the end of the lane – the house not _twenty feet away from him_ – slid open, and out marched a little boy.

A little boy in a green mask and stoplight colors.

The next five seconds felt like the longest of Dick’s life.

Damian saw him instantly – not hard, since he was the only person on the street. Turned and stared at him, eyes widening slowly behind the lenses of his mask.

Dick, for his part, thought his heart might’ve stopped beating. His lungs might’ve stopped working because.

Because.

He knew. Deep down, he knew.

Suddenly his lungs expanded – and Dick couldn’t help but wonder, _when was the last time I breathed?_

His voice was soft, but echoed in the empty morning.

“You’re _alive?!_ ”

Because he couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe he was so _lucky_. Couldn’t believe some higher power actually _listened_ to his prayers.

Damian seemed surprised by the question. Countering with his own, “ _You’re_ alive?!”

Another few seconds, where neither of them answered the question asked of them.

And then, Damian was sprinting. Leaping off the wall surrounding the house, flipping through the air and Dick couldn’t help but smile because – _didn’t I teach him how to do that?_

And when Damian pushed his hands from the ground for a dismount, did one more turn in the air to right himself, Dick couldn’t hold back. Opened his arms as wide as they would go-

-And caught him, like he promised he always would.

Dick was almost surprised, when he felt Damian’s arms instantly around his neck, just a fraction of a second before he had his own hands on Damian’s back, had the boy tight in an embrace that threatened to never release.

Damian was older now. Bigger, but still a munchkin. Heavier, but still light. Still a weight Dick wouldn’t mind carrying forever.

The flashback hit him harder than Jason’s punch. Because the last time. The last time he’d held Damian, the last time he was near him…the child was _dead_. Lifeless. _Cold_. And Dick was stuck with the fact that he was never going to see his kid brother again.

He closed his eyes, squeezed Damian tighter.

Stuck with the fact that Damian had died protecting _him_.

But then Damian pressed his cheek to Dick’s – and it was _warm_. Warm, and…and Dick could feel the heartbeat underneath it, could feel the smile breaking across the boy’s face, the exhales brushing across his skin.

 _Not_ dead.

Damian wasn’t dead.

 _Damian_ _wasn’t dead._

He was real, he was _alive_ and he was in Dick’s arms.

He got his partner back. He got his brother back. _He got his boy back_.

And his voice was soft, and almost shaky. A near whisper, as Damian turned his face, just slightly, gathered Dick further into his own tiny arms – and maybe Dick wasn’t the only one having a hard time believing this moment was real. Maybe Dick wasn’t the only one who wasn’t going to let go, not for anything, not ever again.

Dick’s heart stuttered, as Damian quietly admitted:

“I missed you.”

And Dick almost laughed, but was afraid that if he tried, the sob building in his chest would come out instead.

“I know, kiddo. Me too.”

Because _missed_ – that was an understatement.

Damian nuzzled against his face, and Dick just held him tighter.

Because he knew, deep down.

He knew he was never losing this child, ever again.

“Me too.”


	2. Damian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because like, four people asked, here’s Damian’s POV from the scene in Grayson 12, which continues to destroy and rebuild me every day, so. Dick’s story and this one has the same name because. Because.

It was a dream. It had to be. He knew.

Because this is how they all started. This is how all the nightmares began. He and Grayson, together. _Alone_. Like no one else existed in the world.

It tended to go dark quickly, with monsters popping up, or ghouls. Literal ghosts, in his mother and grandfather. And someone always tended to get dragged to Hell.

But this…

Grayson never looked _surprised_ in his dreams. Never looked so…casual. Always in fancy suits, or in _the_ suit. The one with armour and a symbol on the front.

But the most telling thing – in the dreams, Grayson never _stopped_ _talking_.

And here. Here. In the early morning of some no-name town. Grayson stood in the street. Eyes wide and shoulders hunched. Frozen to his spot as he stared. As he watched Damian like _he_ was the ghost, like _he_ was the one who wasn’t real.

Damian could only stare back, stuck to his own spot, on the porch of this abandoned home, with Maya and Goliath still slowly waking up beyond the door behind him.

Because this was a _dream_.

But he was lucid, here. He _knew_ it was a dream, and he knew he could _prevent_ it. Stop the darkness from closing in on him, before it did. He could turn back. Run back into that house, crawl into Goliath’s arms, burrow against his soft fur. Tell Maya Ducard that he needed a mental day. That she was in charge for the next twenty-four hours. She wouldn’t ask for anything else, not yet. She would understand, in this moment, and adapt. She was good at that.

And even if she wasn’t. This was a dream, so he could make her so.

If only he could move. If only he could _stop staring at Grayson_.

But then Grayson blinked. Then, his lips parted. The sound was soft, but it rang loudly through Damian’s ears.

“You’re _alive?_ ”

And he knew. Damian knew, right then. Right there.

_This wasn’t a dream._

Because in his dreams, Grayson never asked. Grayson knew. About his death and resurrections. In his dreams, Grayson mocked him for it, and _teased_.

In his dreams, Grayson was never casual. Never surprised to see him. Never _asked_.

His brain was trying to put together all the pieces, and the only thing that would come out of his mouth was a repetition.

“ _You’re_ alive?”

Grayson didn’t answer. And Damian didn’t either.

Didn’t, because the pieces fell into place. And everything made sense.

Well, not everything. Nothing, really. Nothing at _all_. But, regardless, he _knew_.

He knew this wasn’t a dream. He knew this was _real_.

And that was the real Grayson, standing there.

He didn’t know why, or how. Because that was Grayson, that was _his Grayson_ , standing there – and Damian wasn’t about to let him get away again.

He ran forward, vaulted the small surrounding wall. Grayson still hadn’t moved, but Damian wasn’t taking any chances. He’d hit him from above, an attack he’d perfected under the man’s tutelage anyway.

No chances – but maybe a little skill.

The flip was unnecessary. Flashy and a bit showy. But Grayson taught him that. Taught him to be flashy, to be showy, in the moments you wanted to hide your true self, your true emotions, your mistakes.

And he’d felt the toe of his boot scrape across the ground. Felt himself about to stumble.

But he needed to prove to Grayson that he _listened_ , that he _learned_.

He needed to prove to Grayson he was worth coming back to.

He pushed his hand off the ground, twisted in mid-air. Grayson was out of his vision for a second, for _less_ than a second, but as he flew through the air, as he righted himself, as Grayson came back into view–

He saw Grayson’s arms open wide, ready to catch him.

Damian had never felt such a big smile on his own face before.

He collapsed into Grayson’s arms, clung to his neck, felt Grayson’s arms wrap around his back, hold him like he was precious.

He could feel his tears coming, but couldn’t let Grayson see, couldn’t let those tears wash this man away, couldn’t _chance_ it happening. He swallowed the lump in his throat, pressed his face to Grayson’s, and just _breathed_.

He felt Grayson tighten his hold. And he just couldn’t stop _smiling_.

He wanted to say, _“I love you so much.”_

He wanted to ask, _“Where the hell have you been?!”_

He wanted to beg, _“Please don’t ever leave me again.”_

But what came out of his mouth in a shaky whisper instead was:

“I missed you.”

Grayson made a sound, but Damian couldn’t tell what it was. Was he laughing? Or…or was he about to cry too?

“I know, kiddo. Me too.”

And impossibly, Damian’s grin grew wider, as Grayson’s arms squeezed him once more. As he held Grayson just as tightly.

Because he was _real_. Because this _wasn’t_ a dream. Not anymore. Not _ever again_.

“Me too.”


End file.
